Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Winter Rose

The Winter Rose.

Hail, and farewell, thou lovely guest, I may not woo thy stay,The hues that paint thy blushing vest Are fading fast away,Like the returning tints that dieAt evening from the western sky, And melt in misty grey.

The morning sun thy beauties hailed, Fresh from their mossy cell;At eve his beam, in sorrow veiled, Bade thee a sad farewell;To-morrow's rays shall gild the spot Where loosened from their fairy knotThe withering petals fell.

Alas! on thy forsaken stem My heart shall long recline,And mourn the transitory gem, And make the story mine:So on my joyless wintry hourHath ope'd some bright and fragrant flower With tints as soft as thine.

Like thee the vision came and went, Like thee it bloomed and fell,In momentary pity sent Of fairer climes to tell.So frail its form, so short its stay,That nought the lingering heart could say, But hail, and fare thee well!